


Purple Sunset

by hwshipper



Category: House M.D.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-23
Updated: 2013-11-23
Packaged: 2018-01-02 10:57:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1055960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hwshipper/pseuds/hwshipper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: House and Wilson are busy zigzagging their way across America, when they encounter a couple of guys they used to know.</p>
<p>Excerpt: The thing about biking across America was that they tended to eat at biker joints, stay in biker-friendly inns and guest houses, and drink at biker bars. Which meant they ran into other bikers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Purple Sunset

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All House MD characters belong to Heel and Toe Films, Shore Z Productions and Bad Hat Harry Productions in association with Universal Media Studios.  
> Beta: srsly_yes going well beyond call of duty to help with this one.
> 
> A/N: Set post-canon, some nine months after 8.22 Everybody Dies.  
> A/N2: If you haven't met my OCs before, all you really need to know is that Chris used to go out with Wilson.

**Purple Sunset**  
  
The thing about biking across America was that they tended to eat at biker joints, stay in biker-friendly inns and guest houses, and drink at biker bars. Which meant they ran into other bikers.  
  
They were finishing a beer in the bar on the town square in a small town in New Hampshire,  
and bikers had been flowing in and out. House was wondering whether to suggest another drink, or dinner, when suddenly he saw Wilson's eyes open wide.  
  
"Don't look now," Wilson said quietly. "But someone we know just walked in. He's at the bar."  
  
Disregarding the first three words, House craned his neck to look out of the booth. A tall, fair man in biking leathers was standing waiting to be served.  
  
"It's your old squeeze!" House realized. _Chris! Fuck!_  
  
Wilson glared, then grimaced. "We should leave now, quickly, before he sees us."  
  
It was a good idea. Chris had his back to them but might easily spot them in the side booth when he turned around. House nodded, and they both stood up and slipped out of the door, blinking as they emerged into lamplight.  
  
Before House could say anything, another voice chimed in. "Hey! House? Wilson?"  
  
Wilson looked like a rabbit caught in headlights, and House was sure he did too. Right in front of them, another man in leather stood clutching a large red motorcycle helmet. It was Chris's other half, Brian.  
  
"We can just kill him now and still escape," House muttered in Wilson's ear, and Wilson dug him in the ribs.  
  
"Or kidnap him and take him with us--" House put some enthusiasm into his voice, and this time Wilson gave him a shove.  
  
"Hey, Brian," Wilson said weakly.  
  
"Hey." Brian's eyes were big behind his spectacles. "What's up? Are you going to the rally?"  
  
"The rally?" Wilson echoed.  
  
"Bike rally." Brian waved an arm around at the many motorcycles parked outside the bar. "Chris likes to go every few years, this year it's In Nashua, east of here. He just went inside, didn't you see him?"  
  
"No," Wilson said hastily.  
  
House obediently murmured, "No." He couldn't resist going on though, "But how great to bump into you both! Lets go inside and catch up."  
  


* * *

  
  
They all went inside. Brian went up to join Chris at the bar; House and Wilson slunk back to the booth they'd just vacated. As they sat down, Wilson grabbed House's arm.  
  
"Don't tell him."  
  
House frowned. "Don't tell who what?"  
  
"Don't tell Chris that I've got cancer and maybe only a few months left to live. I'd just like to say hello and be friendly. I... I don't want him to go all maudlin and pitying on me."  
  
"He may already know," House pointed out. "His best buddy was a patient of yours, right? Prostate Pal?"  
  
"Linus, yeah."  
  
"So surely all your old patients were told their beloved Doctor Wilson has succumbed to his own speciality disease and abandoned them to their fate."  
  
"Linus won't know yet. I couldn't contact all my patients personally, or I'd still be there doing it. They got a standard letter just saying I was moving on and offering them a new doctor." Wilson looked down at the table. "I briefed Brown. Linus will find out when he next makes an appointment. He doesn't need much follow-up since the op went so well, he probably won't find out for a few months."  
  
House digested this slowly. "And _then_ Chrissy boy will find out, and wonder why he saw you today and you didn't tell him. And then, _then,_ he'll find out everyone thinks I'm dead and he'll go blabbing around that he saw me--"  
  
"No, he won't," Wilson cut in. "Not if I ask him."  
  
"In which case you have to tell him," House pointed out with impeccable logic.  
  
"Well, okay." Beat. "But not yet."  
  
Chris and Brian appeared with beer. Chris put the glasses down on the table, and Wilson stood up to greet him. "Chris, it's good to see you."  
  
"Wilson." They embraced briefly; House drummed his fingers on the tabletop, and Brian grinned at him. They all sat down.  
  
"So what brings you out to New Hampshire?" Without waiting for an answer, Chris dug in a pocket and pulled out a phone. "Hey, just wait 'til I tell Linus we've run into you. He'll love to hear--"  
  
 _"No!"_ House and Wilson said together, and Chris's thumb froze on the screen.  
  
"We've, um, kinda come out here to get away from it all." Wilson explained.  
  
"Our whereabouts are a federal secret," House contributed. "No talkee talkee, not even to your Prostate Pal. No tweeting or Facebook either, or I'm afraid we'll have to kill you."  
  
Chris and Brian both looked bemused, but apparently neither were quite rude or bold enough to inquire further. Chris shrugged and Brian stuck out a thoughtful lower lip.  
  
"We both took a leave of absence from work to do some traveling," Wilson said smoothly, and House admired the ready lie. "So what's this biker get-together all about?"  
  
"Oh, it happens every other year. It's a chance to get into the mountains and see lots of Harleys," Chris explained.  
  
"And their riders," Brian said, sotto voce.  
  
"Is the main attraction the mean, hunking pieces of throbbing machinery, or the motorcycles?" House enquired.  
  
"There's a lot of gay biker hangouts around here. It's not hard to get laid," Chris admitted with a rueful smile. "But the motorcycles are very interesting..."  
  
Chris rattled on about Harleys for a while, which House did indeed find quite interesting but Wilson's eyes soon started to glaze over.  
  
"Are you guys staying here in town?" Brian asked as the beer ran dry.  
  
"Yes, at the inn down the road." Wilson pointed in the direction.  
  
"We thought we might stay here overnight," Chris remarked. "Maybe we'll see if we can check in the same place."  
  


* * *

  
  
"You've got to tell him," House said, as they tramped back into their room. Chris and Brian had managed to get accommodation at their hotel, and they'd all agreed to meet for dinner in the dining room in an hour.  
  
"Yeah." Wilson locked the door behind him. "Later. Oh, it was so nice talking to Chris again, just like nothing ever happened."  
  
"Nice but bad luck," House opined glumly. "What's the odds on them going back to New Jersey and both keeping their mouths shut?"  
  
"Chris won't say a word if I ask him. And I'm sure Brian will keep quiet, for you." Wilson flopped into a chair.  
  
House said, offhand, "It might be nice to have them keep us company for a bit, just while we're in the area."  
  
"Yes," Wilson said thoughtfully. "It might."  
  
"Maybe it's time we traded in the bikes before we go any further," House eased the conversation in a direction he'd been edging towards for a while. "We keep talking about it. A rally's bound to be a good place to sell them, or swap them for a car."  
  
Wilson grimaced; House knew Wilson was putting this moment off, as it was a defeat. Riding the motorcycles all day required energy and dexterity he increasingly didn't have. They'd been taking longer and longer breaks between rides, but House knew if they didn't ditch the bikes soon, the day would come when Wilson's strength would give out without warning on the middle of a highway.  
  
"Yes. Maybe. Let's discuss it tomorrow."  
  
"Also, if you want to fuck Chrissy boy, then," House shrugged with as much nonchalance as he could muster, "go ahead."  
  
"House!" Genuine surprise rang through Wilson's throaty voice. "That's not our kind of thing, anymore. We agreed."  
  
"We did, but that was before a giant tumor decided to grow in your thymus," House pointed out. "Bucket list, no regrets, last wishes of the dying, all that kind of thing. You want to fuck him one last time, you go ahead."  
  
"Um, well, thank you very much." Wilson rubbed a hand across his face. "Hang on, I see where this is coming from! You always had a soft spot for Brian--"  
  
"No I didn't!" House responded instantly, and grinned. "Brian always had a hard spot for me, but I never gave him so much as an inch."  
  
Wilson laughed.  
  


* * *

  
  
Dinner started off pleasantly but then became difficult. At first they talked about traveling, which was fine; House and Wilson described their journey across the country, coast to coast through the south, and how they'd made their way back through the north.  
  
"We've been driving around this area for a week or so," House said. "Weird place names the villages have around here. Washington Corners, Wicksfield, Farrington, Laconia...."  
  
"Laconia is _very_ pretty," Wilson confirmed, with an eyebrow raise.  
  
But then Chris and Brian asked after Princeton Plainsboro. House started to wilt under the pressure of pretense first, then Wilson started to hesitate and falter also. Great swathes of the recent past were off limits to talk about.  
  
At the end of the meal, House grabbed a moment when Brian was in the bathroom and Chris distracted, asking for the check, to hiss, _"You've got to tell them!"_  
  
He hardly expected any response; but this time Wilson sighed and closed his eyes.  
  
"Okay." He slid off his chair and raised his voice. "Chris, can I have a word outside?"  
  
Chris looked surprised but readily stood up. Wilson glanced back at House and muttered under his breath, " _You_ can tell Brian."  
  
House nodded, looked at the approaching Brian, and patted the now vacant chair next to him.  
  


* * *

  
  
It was very pleasant in the late evening sunshine outside. Chris hummed merrily to himself as they strolled away from the hotel. Wilson led them a little way around the corner, then stopped and put his hands in his pockets.  
  
Chris had no idea what was coming, anything would have been a surprise, and yet what came still felt shocking to the point of ridiculous.  
  
"Chris, there's something I need to tell you. I have cancer."  
  
"Cancer?" The first, stupid thought that came into Chris's head was that this was just not possible. Wilson was an oncologist, after all. "No. You can't."  
  
"I'm afraid there's no doubt." Wilson let out a short, wheezy laugh. "Thymoma. Cancer of the thymus."  
  
Chris had no idea what this meant.  
  
"The thymus is an internal organ, here." Wilson touched high up on his chest, tapping at his breastbone. "I have a tumor. A very large, invasive tumor. After it was diagnosed I had a round of intensive chemo to shrink it small enough for surgery, but it didn't shrink. It's too big to operate on."  
  
"You mean..." Chris touched his own chest, feeling a growing sense of dismay within. "You can't be cured? You're... going to die?"  
  
And suddenly, horrifically, everything made much more sense.  
  
"Yes." Wilson kept it simple. "The good news is, I'm largely asymptomatic and I'm not dying as fast I thought I was. At first, House and I estimated that I'd be dead in five months. But that was actually nine months ago now. The tumor is growing only very slowly. It's not shrinking but it's not killing me as fast as it could."  
  
Chris was so aghast he could barely take this in. "But... it's killing you?"  
  
"Yes," Wilson repeated. "I may only have a few months left."  
  
Chris reached out blindly and pulled Wilson toward him, hugging him, thymus to thymus. He clasped Wilson's head in one hand, and dimly observed that WIlson's hair was as much like Edward's as it had ever been. "Shouldn't you be bald? The chemo--"  
  
"It was only one round." Wilson's voice was muffled in Chris's shoulder. "And that was nine months ago, before we left Princeton."  
  
"Surely you should be having more treatment than that?" Chris remembered Linus's bouts of struggle with prostate cancer, the frequent visits to Princeton Plainsboro for radiation.  
  
Wilson dropped his arms, took a step back. "I could, but it would only prolong my life, not save it. I don't want to spend my remaining time in a chemo suite; I want to be out here, with House."  
  
"Fucking hell." This was too much for Chris to absorb.  
  
"And there's something else," Wilson took a deep breath. "About House."  
  


* * *

  
  
"So that's Wilson." House sipped coffee. Brian mechanically picked up his own cup and sipped too, though it might have been pond water for all he tasted it. "No chemo, kemosabe."  
  
"I guess there's no doubt he's of sound mind." Brian's lawyerly mind sought avenues.  
  
"I fear he's perfectly sane and of age to make his own decisions." House didn't sigh, but his tone sounded as if he wanted to. "And as the former head of Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital's Oncology Department, he's one of the best informed people on the planet as to his treatment options."  
  
"So that's it?" Brian queried. "You can't do anything? You've cured so many people, but you can't cure him?"  
  
"I was a diagnostician." House put down the cup. "Unfortunately, diagnostics really isn't the skill required here. Miracle-working, perhaps."  
  
The use of the past tense was not lost on Brian. "And you both gave up your jobs to go traveling? You're not on a leave of absence?"  
  
House's lips quirked. "Wilson gave up his job. I gave up... a bit more than that." He fished into a pocket, and handed Brian a drivers' licence. "Meet Oliver Deadman."  
  
The photo was House, the physical details matched, but the name was wrong. Brian frowned. "You changed your name? You got a new identity? Why?"  
  
"Because Dr Gregory House MD died in a warehouse fire nine months ago." House took the licence back and tucked it away. "If he hadn't, he would have been sent back to prison, having broken his parole with six months to go on an uncompleted sentence. And by the time he got out, Wilson might have been dead."  
  
Woah. That was a lot of shit to take in. Brian put down the coffee, demanded to know about the prison stuff, was exasperated to hear about House's voluntary lack of legal representation.  
  
At the end of it all, Brian sat back in his chair and said, "Okay. Another coffee, Oliver?"  
  
House shook his head, and at that point Wilson reappeared, forehead creased and sucking on his lower lip. House was on his feet instantly.  
  
"I'm all right, just a bit tired," Wilson assured him, before House had even asked a question. "Chris is a bit... cut up though, Brian, you might want to go see him. I'm going to bed now; goodnight, see you tomorrow at breakfast."  
  
Wilson headed toward the stairs. House threw some bills on the table and followed without even saying goodnight. Brian topped up the pile of money and headed outside to find Chris leaning on a lamppost on the corner of the street. He'd managed to bum a cigarette from somewhere, and Brian valiantly resisted the urge to say, Chris, your blood pressure...  
  
Instead he said, "So, House and Wilson. What's all that about, eh?"  
  
"Yeah." Chris dropped the cigarette on the ground and crushed it out. "Can't believe it. Poor Wilson. I remember when Linus told me he had cancer all those years ago. Such tough shit to deal with..."  
  
Brian realised that Chris was very close to tears, and Chris almost never cried. Seeking a way past this potentially embarrassing situation, Brian changed tack. "But how about House, eh? You know, I can't believe he was going back to prison for blocking a pipe." Warming to his theme, he carried on, "Any half decent lawyer could've gotten him off. I sure could have. Maybe I still could. Maybe after Wilson's dead he might want to go back--"  
  
 _"Fuck--House!"_ Chris bellowed, sufficiently loudly that Brian took a step backwards. "And fuck you, too! Wilson's dying and all you can talk about is House? House screwed up his own stupid fucking life, while Wilson did nothing and got cancer. Can't you stop being Brian the Shark even for a minute, you heartless--"  
  
And Chris stopped a swinging fist in midair, with obvious effort. Red in the face, he stood breathing heavily for a second, then turned and strode away into the night.  
  
"Chris," Brian called after him, but his heart wasn't in it and he didn't try and follow. Of course Chris was upset, he had all that past history with Wilson. He probably needed some time to himself.  
  
But there was nothing they could do about Wilson, whereas... Maybe there was something to be done for House.  
  


* * *

  
  
Brian barely slept that night, and not because Chris was absent. He plugged in his tablet and whiled away hours looking for relevant legal cases. People who'd been declared dead who were found not to be. People convicted without professional legal representation in court, who had been given sentences later found to be over-long. He was encouraged by what he found.  
  
He woke from a doze to find sun streaming through the window. Huh, he must have gotten some sleep after all. He struggled up and through a shower, running through legal arguments in his head. He could picture himself in front of a judge and jury; grateful past patients as character witnesses, professional colleagues testifying to House's genius. _"Your Honor, I'm here today to present Dr Gregory House, a victim of his own sense of guilt and extreme stubborness..."_  
  
He went down to breakfast, and was delighted to find House already there in a booth, working his way through a pancake stack.  
  
"Morning," Brian said chirpily, sitting down opposite. A waiter appeared. "Uh, just black coffee please."  
  
House grunted. "Yes, it is morning. You seem very excited by the sun rising, as it always does."  
  
"So there's a procedure," Brian said, unable to stop the enthusiasm spilling out of his voice. "People thought to be dead, who are declared dead, can be declared alive again. And once that's done, I can get you off the charges, no problem. The case is full of holes, you already served a lot of time, we could maybe even seek compensation down the line--"  
  
"Brian!" House said very loudly. People looked around. "No."  
  
Puzzled, Brian shook his head several times, like a dog coming out of water. "There's nothing to worry about. I'll handle the case myself, I won't charge you a cent. You won't have to go back to jail."  
  
"Haven't you heard of the phrase, 'no means no'?" House shook his head in imitation. "Listen to me. No."  
  
There was a pause. The waiter arrived with coffee, and House carried on eating pancakes.  
  
"You could be a doctor again," Brian said, a note of desperation creeping into his voice. "You could save more lives."  
  
"Don't you dare try and blackmail me with that kind of argument. Dr Gregory House is dead." House glared, then grinned. "He has an obituary in the New England Medical Journal."  
  
"Really?" Brian was diverted from his arguments.  
  
"Yeah. My untimely death didn't make the national press, but it did cause some comment in the medical community. Dr House is no longer taking referrals, because he's dead. Some people were quite upset, so Wilson tells me. He still checks email sometimes. I haven't read any of it." House shrugged. "Foreman wrote the obit, so it won't be worth reading."  
  
"Even so," Brian tried again. "Don't you think some of these people would be pleased if you weren't dead after all? Dr Foreman? Dr Chase?"  
  
"Dr Chase is the new head of Diagnostics at Princeton Plainsboro and wouldn't want me coming back to haunt him if he's got any sense at all. As for Foreman, he knows I'm probably not dead, unless he's too stupid to pick up the clue I left him, which is quite possible. But he hasn't tried to find me, which maybe shows he respects what I want to do." House pointed a fork. "Unlike you, apparently."  
  
"I'm just trying to understand," Brian said lamely. He thought about the people he cared about, apart from Chris; his sister Tina and the kids. "What about your family?"  
  
House shuddered. "My mother might just kill me if she found out I wasn't dead."  
  
"Since when do you care about what people think?" Brian tried another tactic.  
  
"I don't; I care about consequences. I'm not doing anything that might take me away from Wilson while he's still hanging on."  
  
"And after he's dead?" Brian broke the last taboo. "What then?"  
  
House put down his fork and stared in silence for a minute, and Brian feared he'd gone too far; but then House said quite quietly, "There's no reason for Oliver Deadman to hang around after James Wilson dies."  
  
"You mean..." Brian hardly dared think this through.  
  
"I mean, maybe I'll die right there on the spot with grief, perhaps I'll OD on the barbiturates I've been stockpiling, or maybe we'll go out together, Thelma and Louise style. I really don't know." House shrugged. "But whatever happens, forget your hare-brained plan. I'm not gonna do it, not now, not ever."  
  
"But--" Brian raised his palms. House leaned across the table, grasped one of Brian's hands and pushed it down to the table,  
  
"No."  
  
"But--"  
  
 _"No!"_  
  
"Should I be worried about you kids holding hands?"  
  
They both jumped. It was Wilson, standing by the table, grinning down at them. House still had Brian's knuckles in a tight grip. He let go, and as Wilson sat down in the booth next to House, House shot Brian a death glare, which Brian interpreted as _not a word about your stupid plan._  
  
"Morning," Brian said meekly to Wilson.  
  
"Good morning. Chris sleeping in?" Wilson asked, sipping a mouthful of House's coffee.  
  
"Uh...." Brian hesitated, unsure what to say. "He kinda took off last night. He hasn't come back yet." Wilson looked immediately alarmed, and Brian hastened to add, "He just wanted some time to himself."  
  
"Don't we all want a break from you sometimes," House griped, scraping the last bit of maple syrup from his plate.  
  
Wilson still looked perturbed. "He's still upset about me?"  
  
"Oh, it's all about you," House said with mock censure, but Brian nodded sheepishly, not daring admit to his own contribution.  
  
"I'm sorry about that," Wilson murmured, and House threw up his hands.  
  
 _"Sorry?_ You're sorry that you're dying and this might upset someone? Of all the--"  
  
"Hey," said a new voice, and it was Chris, in yesterday's clothes, standing drooping and forlorn. He looked like someone who'd spent the night sitting in the gutter with a bottle of whiskey. He looked like crap.  
  
House stood up. "The prodigal son returns. Brian, let's go take a walk and let these two get all weepy together."  
  
Wilson shifted aside to let House exit the booth. Brian followed, touching Chris lightly on the shoulder as he passed, but Chris shook him off.  
  


* * *

  
  
Wilson ordered an omelet, and Chris asked for eggs over easy, and he and Wilson sat mostly in silence while they waited for their food, and then ate.  
  
"I'm sorry I didn't call you before I left Princeton," Wilson said eventually, pushing the empty plate away. "I was trying to contact as few people as possible, to be honest. It's no fun telling people you're dying."  
  
"Yeah," Chris mumbled, staring into his coffee. "I understand. And I'm sorry I reacted badly. It's just... Linus, of course. And other stuff...."  
  
He couldn't go on. _It's like seeing what would have happened if Edward hadn't been killed in that accident all those years ago. It's like knowing if he hadn't gone under that truck, he would've got cancer and be dying right now instead._  
  
Wilson seemed to understand anyway. He moved his feet under the table, and they bumped knees. Chris smiled back.  
  
"There are some advantages to dying, you know," Wilson said lightly. "Bucket list, that kind of thing. House even said he wouldn't mind if I slept with you, for old times sake."  
  
Chris snorted with laughter, then shot a quick glance to make sure that Wilson wasn't actually making an offer. Wilson met his eye, gently smiling, and Chris found he really wasn't sure.  
  
"What did you say to him?" he asked, hoping for a clue.  
  
"I told House he was only making the offer so he could get into Brian's pants," Wilson replied, and Chris snorted again. Wilson joined in, and as they sat laughing together Chris felt a sudden surge of desire. Dammit, the idea had been planted in his head and he couldn't get it out...  
  
He moved his knees away hastily, and asked, "So, what now? You carry on traveling, until..."  
  
"Yes. We're making a bit of a circuit of this area, it's nicknamed the 'Purple Mountains'." Wilson dug in a pocket and produced a tourist map. Chris looked at it without really seeing it, while Wilson chatted about their plans, mentioned some place names.  
  
"You and Brian should go on to your rally, though," Wilson said eventually. "It was great seeing you." He stood up, and Chris stood too, and they hugged. "Goodbye, Chris. Do tell Linus hello for me, but remember not to mention you saw House. Please. Keep the map, perhaps we'll see you around in a few days time."  
  
"Maybe." Chris's throat was dry as dust. He watched Wilson head off up toward the rooms, then pocketed the map, and headed up to his own room.  
  


* * *

  
  
Brian wasn't there. Chris went straight to the shower. When he came out, he found Brian's stuff had vanished, and his phone was blinking. Voicemail from Brian.  
  
 _"Chris, I'm gonna go explore the mountains on my own for a few days. You go on to the rally."_ Pause. _"I screwed up. I'm sorry. I'll see you. Have fun."_ Click.  
  
Typical Brian, flight instinct kicking in at a sign of stress. But Chris found he wasn't angry or upset, just grateful for the space. Sorrow had seeped into his soul, and he didn't want to talk about it. He wanted to go and talk Harley, get drunk, and get laid.  
  
All were easy to do at the rally. Chris headed there, found the gay biker crowd, and twelve hours later found himself in a back alley behind an inn getting a blow-job from a young mop-haired guy, who was then vigorously fucked by his bear of a boyfriend. Thirty-six hours later and he'd enjoyed mutual handjobs with the owner of a '65 rarity.  
  
It was all good fun, and it helped dissipate the sorrow. But it wasn't as enjoyable as it could've been. It would have been better with Brian there, to share.  
  
Another twenty-four hours later, Chris had retreated to a hotel room on his own, smoked some weed and tried to empty his brain when his phone piped up with a text message. It was Brian.  
  
 _Come to Laconia._  
  
Laconia. Hadn't House mentioned that? Chris looked at the map Wilson had left behind, and there it was, forty miles westward. And Wilson had marked it, with an asterisk. Suddenly Chris realized Wilson had mentioned it, too. Chris just hadn't really been listening at the time, but now he remembered Wilson had said it among other place names, when talking about the map. _Keep the map, perhaps we'll see you around..._  
  


* * *

  
  
Chris arrived in Laconia in the early evening to find a large lake with grass stretching up to a series of shops and cafes all around. The mountains loomed large behind. Down by the shore, Brian sat outside a restaurant flying a rainbow flag, an empty espresso cup on the table and sunglasses on his nose.  
  
"Hey." Chris tramped across gravel to sit next to Brian.  
  
"Hey." Brian turned his head and slipped his glasses off. Chris stiffened a little, seeing Brian the Shark still present in his eyes. When Brian began to speak, however, it became clear that he wasn't acting the legal beagle so much as a terrier after the scent.  
  
"House mentioned a bunch of place names when we were all talking, but they were phony. They don't exist. I looked them all up. Laconia is the only one that was real, that's the one he wanted to draw our attention towards, and you know what it's known for?" Brian waved a hand at the cafe flag. "This town is the gay marriage capital of the 'Purple Mountains' area."  
  
"Ah!" Chris drew a deep breath. "Wilson pointed us at it too. He left me a map."  
  
"Cool. So I got here yesterday," Brian went on. "Lo and behold, James Wilson and Oliver Deadman got a marriage licence from the courthouse here a couple of weeks ago. There's no waiting period in this county, but the licence is valid for forty-five days. I went to all the companies around here that offer ceremonies--there are a lot of them--and it turns out what they did is as soon as the got that licence, they booked a wedding."  
  
"No kidding!"  
  
"No kidding." Brian spread his hands. "The place is called Purple Sunset Weddings and they do ceremonies on the other side of the lake, down by the shore. Early mornings or late evenings with the sun rising or setting. House and Wilson are booked in for tomorrow evening, it was the first available date."  
  
Wow. "Good detective work. Are they here yet?"  
  
"No, I'm thinking they'll arrive tomorrow, and with the hints they dropped to us, maybe they'd like a couple of guests."  
  
Chris reached across the table and squeezed Brian's hand.  
  


* * *

  
  
They arrived the next day, as Brian had predicted. Chris and Brian were sitting outside by the same cafe as yesterday, finishing a late breakfast, when a Chevy pulled up alongside them. House was at the wheel; Wilson looked a little older and more fatigued than he had a few days before.  
  
"You found us," House said with approval, like they had passed some sort of test. Which maybe they had.  
  
"I gather congratulations are in order," Chris ventured, looking past House at Wilson.  
  
"Thank you." Wilson's smile was warm.  
  
"You lost the bikes?" Brian queried.  
  
"Traded 'em in. No longer practical for an old married couple, but we agreed we'd tie the knot in our biking leathers, for old times' sake." House opened the car door and stepped out, revealing black leather pants and boots.  
  
Wilson got out the other side; he was similarly dressed. They both sat down at the table with Chris and Brian.  
  
"Now, apparently we need two witnesses for the ceremony," Wilson said gravely. "We were just going to grab people off the street, but since you're here anyway, perhaps you wouldn't mind..."  
  
Chris put his hand over his mouth, and Brian said, "Sure."  
  
"Excellent," said Wilson. "Now let's enjoy the day in Laconia."  
  


* * *

  
  
They arrived at Purple Sunset Weddings in the late afternoon, when the sun was just starting to sink below clouds. The celebrant was waiting for them down by the lakeside, a middle-aged woman wearing a bright purple vest with her dark suit. She greeted 'James and Oliver', like old friends, and they plunged right on with the ceremony.  
  
Chris had been a witness at a few civil unions in his time, and more recently, weddings. This one was short and sweet; the celebrant said a few general introductory words, then it was onto the vows. There were promises to love, cherish, honor, and suddenly Chris's ears pricked up as something House said took on new meaning.  
  
"I promise that we will live each day to the fullest, and be thankful every day that we're together. I will be there when you need me. I will be by your side in sickness and in health, 'til death us do part."  
  
 _'Til death…_ Chris found he had a lump in his throat, and swallowed hard. The words were mushy, especially for someone like House, but House's voice rang true and sober. Chris exchanged a glance with Brian, who was biting his lower lip.  
  
"And when that time comes…." House paused, then continued, "I won't let you suffer, and you won't be alone."  
  
Brian let out a small cough, almost a choke. Musing on the words, Chris leaned forward to peer at Wilson's face. Wilson looked… younger. Serene. Glowing, almost. Perhaps it was just the effect of the sunset, but Chris felt a warm feeling inside his chest. House and Wilson had been through such a lot of crap over the years. The situation might be bittersweet, but this was all just…. sweet.  
  
As rings were exchanged, Chris found himself muttering to Brian, "We should do this sometime."  
  
Brian's spectacles fell right off his nose. As he stooped to pick them up, he murmured back. "Is that a proposal?"  
  
Chris clasped his hands and looked at the ground. "I guess it is."  
  
"I never thought you'd want--" Brian stopped, took a deep breath, and stuck his glasses back on his nose. "I mean, yes. We should do this sometime. Back in New Jersey, maybe."  
  
"And now the signing of the register," the celebrant broke into the conversation. Chris took a deep breath and stepped forward, not looking at Brian. They all signed their names in turn; Chris noticed House didn't blink an eyelid as he scrawled _O. Deadman._  
  
"Congratulations," Brian said as they all walked away afterwards, and Chris echoed him.  
  
"Thanks, guys," Wilson said easily, as if they'd just all been to the movies or something. "We'll be heading off now. Maybe we'll see you again sometime."  
  
"But maybe we won't," House added, and Wilson shrugged a little, as if to acknowledge the truth of this.  
  
Chris and Wilson hugged goodbyes, while House shook hands with Brian, and nodded at Chris.  
  
Then House and Wilson got into their car, and Brian clasped Chris's hand as they both stood and watched them drive away. House was at the wheel, Wilson had an arm slung around the driver's seat, fingers brushing House's shoulder. They headed west, into the setting sun. Pinkish-purple orange rays glowed smokily around, and as Chris strained his eyes to see, the sun billowed out from the horizon and swallowed them up completely.  
  
END

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I think this is my last House/Wilson fic. It's been a blast.


End file.
